An Eclectic Journal of Opinion, History, Poetry and General Bloviating

Monday, April 11, 2016

Amit Majmudar—The Radiologist as Poet

Dr. Amit Majmudar

Those
of you who are NPR listeners—I know
you are there—may have heard the featured interview last week with Dr. AmitMajmudar
,
an Ohio diagnostic nuclear radiologist
who doubles as a poet and novelist.I heard a snatch of it on my wife’s
car radio the other evening as we searched for place to have dinner.I was intrigued enough to
be sent scrambling on the internet to find out more about him and
his work.

As
it turned out my “discovery” turns
out to be a well-established writer.His new book Dot Head turns out to be
his third published collection.o˚ which
came out in 2009 earned the was a finalist for a Poetry Society of AmericaNorma
Faber First Book Award, and Heaven and Earth (2011), was chosen
for a Donald Justice Prize.Majmudar has also published two novels, Partitions
in 2011 and The Abundance in 2013.That’s
a lot of production over a short time for a guy with a demanding day job.

Majmudar
was born in 1979 to Indian immigrant
parents.He was raised in the middle class Cleveland, Ohio suburbs with high expectations for academic
and professional success.He earned a BS at the University of
Akron and an MD at Northeast Ohio Medical University,
completing his medical residency at
the University Hospitals of Cleveland.He seemed destined to join the growing ranks of South Asian who have entered medicine,
science, engineering, academic and
other professions in large numbers
in this country.

He
would seem to be a completely assimilated
Asian-American.As his NPR interview
attests, he speaks flawless casual
Midwestern English without a trace
of an accent.Photos show him comfortable in stylish sportswear.He likely spends his work life surrounded mostly by white
professionals.Yet he is always conscious of his Indianess and the Hinduism that
keeps him an outsider in a heavily Christian society.

It
all becomes the grist for the mill of his poetry and fiction.His subject is “familial, religious, and
cultural tensions and allegiance,” according to one reviewer.

In
the title poem of his new book those
tensions are laid bare in the memory of a grade school lunchroom encounter.

Dothead

Well yes, I
said, my mother wears a dot.
I know they said “third eye” in class, but it’s not
an eye eye, not like that. It's not some freak
third eye that opens on your forehead like
on some Chernobyl baby. What it means
is, what it's showing is, there’s this unseen
eye, on the inside. And she's marking it.
It's how the X that says where treasure’s at
is not the treasure, but as good as treasure.—
All right. What I said wasn’t half so measured.
In fact, I didn't say a thing. Their laughter
had made my mouth go dry. Lunch was after
World History; that week was India—myths,
caste system, suttee, all the Greatest Hits.
The white kids I was sitting with were friends,
at least as I defined a friend back then.
So wait, said Nick, does your mom wear a dot?
I nodded, and I caught a smirk on Todd—
She wear it to the shower? And to bed?—
while Jesse sucked his chocolate milk and Brad
was getting ready for another stab.
I said, Hand me that ketchup packet there.
And Nick said, What? I snatched it, twitched the tear,
and squeezed a dollop on my thumb and worked
circles till the red planet entered the house of war
and on my forehead for the world to see
my third eye burned those schoolboys in their seats,
their flesh in little puddles underneath,
pale pools where Nataraja cooled his feet.

—Amit
Majmudar

But
Majmudaris no one trick pony.He keenly observes the world, extrapolates understandings, and uses vivid, imaginative language.Witness
this poem from an earlier collection.